Telepathy (Poetry)

Dear Philip

Unlike faithful Monica, I did not send you letters
but high-blown thoughts instead
endlessly circling
with nowhere welcoming enough
to offer a safe landing.

They’ve grown like a whispered legend
their strong grey wings spread wide
to hover over oceans
my many shades of albatross sleek-feathered
immune to the sting of salt.

I dare not dream in fashionable omens —
stuffed birds of luck or fate
that turn words into something
they never were. And still
are not.

For you might (just once) have imagined me
and that one thought in its intensity —
a connection made on some tangential plane —
gives a homeless weary line some hope
to send it soaring free again.